Page 97 of Prince Charmless
Nonetheless, “Do you know how many cameras are in this parking lot? The cops are going to think we’re crazy.” I steal the book from him. “No more symbolic life lessons. I’m not in the mood.”
He tenses when I throw it back in the car and slam the door. He follows me from a safe distance to the sidewalk.
To enter a prison without committing a crime, one has to go through the rigmarole of being a visitor. Almost every week, I endure metal detectors, pat downs, and being asked to open my mouth. They ask if I have any drugs, weapons, or alcohol on me. Even if I did, why would I answer yes?
“Woah, you’re Melina Ramirez,” the cop says after checking my driver’s license.
My brother and I exchange glances.
“Yes, is that all the documentation you need from me?” I ask, knowing full well that’s all the documentation she needs from me.
The door to the visitor’s room buzzes.
“Yes,” she says, sliding it back to me under the dividing window.
As I walk through, I hear her tell her desk companion, “She’s seeing the Prince.”
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
I always find prison visits in movies unrealistic. They show these big rooms with only a couple of people around. Our visitation room is always cramped, hot, noisy, and never fails to host a couple in the corner eating each other’s faces. We wait for my dad for around twenty minutes. Soon, he comes out looking like he always does: gray sweats, stubbly, in need of a haircut. It’s always been weird to see him this way. He used to be so particular with his facial hair and grooming habits. If my dad had tattoos, he’d look exactly like my brother, just a bit frumpier. He complains about needing to lose a few pounds, but Santa could stand to lose a few pounds, and everyone loves Santa.
“Lina,” Dad greets as he pecks me on the cheek. When he leans back, his classic infectious smile is gone. “Well, I thought I had big news to share, but come to find out my daughter is now a princess.”
“I’m not a princess, Dad.” I sit down and give him two Snickers bars from the vending machine, as is our custom.
“I have a right to know this stuff, you know,” Dad says, taking the candy. “What has been going on? Am I supposed to find out about your life through other people? I am your father.”
I slide down in the steel chair. “Okay, Darth Vader,” I murmur.
“Is this man your boyfriend? Fiancé? I know he’s a prince, but that doesn’t mean he gets to skip asking me for permission.” He takes a large bite of the chocolate.
“Permission? Is this Pride and Prejudice? Taylor is not my boyfriend. And don’t be reading gossip.”
“Taylor?” He says with his mouth full. “You call him Taylor? Are you on a first-name basis with the Queen now too?”
“Dad. Nothing is going on. It’s a nonstory.” The whole country speculating is enough. I can’t take my own familyhounding me. “Please, I just want everyone to stop asking me questions.”
I force open the bag of salt and vinegar chips and stuff them in my mouth. They’re the most popular snack from the machine, so them being stocked today will be my little dose of happiness for the week.
There’s some awkward silence before my brother changes the subject. “Uh, you said you had big news?”
Dad puts out his arms. “February fifteenth.”
Mateo steals a handful of my chips before I can take them away. “What’s February fifteenth?” he asks.
Dad wiggles his bushy eyebrows. I know exactly what he’s talking about.
“You’re getting released?” I ask. “You told us April at the very least.”
“Talked with the P.O. the other day. Good behavior, I guess.”
“That’s fucking amazing!” Mateo straightens and hits me on the arm. “Finally, some good news, eh, Melina?”
“What are you going to do when you get out?” I ask dully.
Dad raises his shoulders. “Do you have to be so commonsensical all the time? We can’t celebrate for two seconds? Would you like some chocolate?”
He gestures the Snickers bar out to me. I leave him hanging.
